


Bruises

by TreacleTart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Fear, Gen, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleTart/pseuds/TreacleTart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My eyes snap open as I’m roughly shaken awake.  Adrenaline begins to course through my veins almost instantly elevating my heart rate.  I have no clue where I am.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

  
Beautiful Banner by BitterSweetFlames @ TDA!

**Day 1:**

My eyes snap open as I’m roughly shaken awake. Adrenaline begins to course through my veins almost instantly elevating my heart rate. I have no clue where I am. Everything is stark white with the exception of the harsh yellow light filtering down from the ceiling. Padding lines the walls and dirty gray tiles cover the floor. My nose is inundated with the smell of urine and harsh cleaning chemicals, particularly ammonia.

I try to move, but find I am bound to the bed by heavy leather straps around my arms and legs. I throw all my weight against them, trying frantically to loosen them. After several minutes, I deem my efforts futile. I collapse against my pillow exhausted and afraid.

It is only when I stop my struggle that I notice the man standing in the corner of the room. He is dressed in all white and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He holds a clip board in his hand and appears to be observing my reaction. His wordlessness is disconcerting. His eyes lock on mine, but I refuse to look away. I will not allow myself to be a passive prisoner and all I can do to protest my captivity is to shoot daggers with my eyes.

The man speaks. “Caroline, do you know where you are?”

Caroline. Is that my name? I roll it around on my tongue, but it sounds hollow. It causes no response within me.

When I do not respond, he repeats his question, but more slowly this time. “Caroline, do you know where you are?” He pauses between each word as if I barely understand the language he is speaking.

I open my mouth to speak, but my vocal cords won’t seem to work. They feel swollen, raw, and angry as if I’ve been screaming myself hoarse. I move my lips and tongue, but the sounds won’t seem to come out.

Frustrated, I try again. I think hard about the words I want to say and attempt to speak, but somewhere I can feel that there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth. Try as I might, I can’t seem to get them to come out. The idea of being unable to communicate in this strange place terrifies me. I shrink down into the bed, practically hysterical, not knowing why I’m here or why I can’t speak.

The man in the white coat seems to notice my reaction. “Caroline, I need you to calm down. I don’t want to have to sedate you. I need you to focus. Can you understand what I’m saying? If so, shake your head yes.”

Tentatively, I shake my head wondering what type of game he is playing.

“Do you know where you are?”

I shake my head no. The sudden concern in his eyes worries me. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything? Full-fledged panic sets in. I thrash against the restraints that hold me as if they are burning into my skin. I claw at the thick leather trying to find a way to get it off. The need to scream is filling my chest to the point that I think I might explode, but I can’t seem to force it out. I bang my head back and forth against the bed. I lift up and slam it down with force causing the lights above me to swirl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man in the white coat slip out of the doorway. It’s too late to stop me. A wave of rage fills me and I am like a caged wild beast. I thrash and kick, but find no release.

Suddenly, a sturdy looking man in light blue clothing enters the room. I can see something sharp sticking out of his hand. As he walks towards me, I realize he means to torture me with it and I fight the restraints like it’s a matter of life and death.

The sturdy man in the blue jays me with the sharp object in his hand. I can now see that it was a needle. He pushes some type of freezing cold liquid into my veins. At first, I can feel it travel through my body, from one side to the other, leaving a chill wherever it goes. There is an odd familiarity to the sensation, relaxing almost.

Within seconds the room has flipped upside down several times. I feel woozy and weak and all of the fight that was exploding from me moments ago has now been tamed. I try to force myself to stay awake by counting. One. Two. Three. Three, I repeat. What comes after three? I grasp around in my brain for the answer, but never find it. I am asleep before I can remember.

**Day 2:**

I awake in the same white room with the same dingy yellow lights. The panic that took hold of me last night is still present, but it has been somewhat subdued by whatever was injected into me. The man with the thin line for a mouth and the white coat is back, clipboard in hand, staring at me.

“Caroline, let’s try this again. Do you know where you are?”

I try to speak. Still nothing. I shake my head no.

“Do you remember anything from yesterday?”

I think hard to yesterday. Thrashing. Panic. Frozen liquid stopping my blood from boiling within me. I shake my head yes.

“I would like to avoid having that happen again. I really want to get you up and out of the bed, but in order to take those straps off I have to be able to trust that you won’t hurt the staff. Can you promise me you will stay calm, Caroline?”

I shake my head once more. A vehement yes. If they undo the straps, perhaps I can fight my way to freedom. Maybe I can escape this prison and find some answers.

The sturdy man with the blue clothing enters the room, followed by a short, stout woman with graying hair. They stand off to the side of my bed, looking expectantly at the man in the white coat.

“Alright, Caroline. We are going to undo your restraints, but before we do I need you to listen very carefully to what I am saying. Your legs are going to feel very weak and you may have a hard time walking. Don’t be discouraged. That’s completely normal.”

Completely normal? Completely normal to who? I’m seventeen years old. Not being able to walk is far from normal.

“Don’t panic, Caroline. We are all here to help you. Your goal today is just to stand up and if your legs feel steady enough, perhaps walk a few steps. Bernie and Sandra will be here to catch you should they give out. Do you understand?”

I nod and then hold perfectly still as the woman who has been identified as Sandra unbuckles the straps that hold me down.

“Sweetheart, can you swing your legs over the side of the bed for me and try to sit up?”

I do exactly as I am told. She helps me stand and sure enough my knees wobble beneath me. I steal my resolve and step forward tentatively. Then I take another. It is a struggle, but one that I’m sure I can overcome. Before anyone knows it, I have reached the other side of the room.

The man in the white coat speaks. “Okay Caroline, that’s enough for today. Can you walk back to your bed now?”

That’s when I lose it. I will not be returned to the bed where I am tied down. Realizing that everyone has been lulled into a false sense of calm by my compliant behavior, I take the opportunity to make my escape. I slam my elbow into Sandra’s gut causing her to double over. Bernie grabs at me from behind and I bite down as hard as possible on his meaty hands. I can hear him screaming in agony, but I do not let up. The taste of iron fills my mouth and I can feel something hot and wet trickle down my chin. His grip on me releases slightly and I pull through his hands.

It is only the man in the white who stands between me and the door. For all that has happened, he seems calm. It’s quite disconcerting, but I try not to give it much thought. I charge at him as hard as my weak legs will allow, but he doesn’t move. I allow myself to crash into him, hoping to knock him down, but fail miserably. He snakes his left arm tightly around my midsection and reaches into his coat pocket. Out comes the needle again and before I know it ice is burning through my veins once more.

My legs go weak as the liquid goes through me. I slip from the man’s arm and collide violently with the floor. From then on, all I remember is blackness and the distant sound of Bernie screaming.

**Day 3:**

I am startled awake by voices outside of my door. One of them seems vaguely familiar. The other I recognize as the man in the white coat.

“What do you mean I can’t see my daughter?! Who the hell do you think you are trying to stop me?!”

I hear someone grasp at the door to my room. For a brief moment, the door jiggles, but then it stops. Scuffling. Banging. And then silence. I freeze, listening intently.

“Sir, I understand your frustration, but Caroline is in no state to have visitors right now. The procedure has been very rough on her. It’s going to be a little while longer before she’s ready to deal with any of this. I explained all of this to you in the beginning. This procedure is relatively new and so far each patient seems to respond differently.”

I hear a woman’s strangled cry and the sounds of someone consoling her. A couple “There there’s” and “It’s alrights”. I wish someone would console me. I am scared beyond my wildest nightmare and yet no one seems to want to make it better.

“Damn it! Will you open this door?! Look at what you’re doing to my wife!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Johnson, but I can’t allow you to go in there right now. Caroline is in a very fragile state. Yesterday, she attacked one of our orderlies. He needed eight stitches to sew one of his fingers back together after it. I can’t risk another attack.”

The woman speaks or tries to through her tears. “Caroline? Our Caroline attacked someone? But I d-d-d-don’t understand. She would never d-d-d-do something like that. Not our g-g-g-irl.”

A deep sigh emanates from one of the man in the white jacket. “Do you remember when you first came to me, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson? You complained that Caroline was showing abnormalities. She could make things move without touching them. Her moods could affect the weather surrounding your home. If you made her mad, she could cause you to break out into hives. When she was upset, she could start fires without matches, smash plates without moving, and cause the walls to shake like the earth was breaking beneath your home. Do you remember coming to me and begging me to help? Pleading with me to find a way to stop it? Do you remember?”

Silence weighs heavy outside of my door for a minute. I hold my breath for as long as possible, fearing that exhaling might cause me to miss the next words spoken.

“I know this seems harsh, but I have corrected the problem. Right now, Caroline is exhibiting normal behaviors. She’s panicked because of the memory loss, but as I told you before, that is to be expected. She just needs a few more days of therapy and all will be well. I know it’s hard to trust me, but the way I see it you have no other option. I promise you, the girl I return to you will be well-behaved. All of the abnormalities will be gone. Just give me a few more days.”

Hesitation leads to a long, harsh silence. The quiet causes ringing in my ears. Thoughts have instantaneously began to whir through my mind. It’s like the words I’ve overheard have released the flood gates. I try hard to take it all in, but I’m overwhelmed. I can feel the panic setting in, but this time there is no one here to stop me. I thrash and rage and storm. I slam my head against the bed until I can no longer see straight.

Eventually, exhaustion over takes me. I fight sleep, but I can feel my eyes drooping. That night I dream about home or at least what I think is home. I can see myself in my room only I’m much younger, 9 perhaps. I can see myself move my hand and a book flies off the shelf into my arms, which were waiting to catch it as if I knew it would happen.

**Day 4:**

The man with the white coat is back. He is rambling on and on, trying to get me to respond, but I ignore him. Instead I focus on the clipboard that he holds loosely in his hand. I concentrate all of my energy on trying to make it move the way I made the book move in my dreams. Something tells me to focus deep inside of my gut, that if I only try hard enough the clipboard will move.

After what seems like hours, the man in the white coat tires of talking to an unresponsive person and slips through the door. I realize that I should have made more of an effort to engage him, if only to keep the clipboard there longer.

It occurs to me that if I play the game the way they want me to, I’ll have more opportunity to practice. It is in that moment that I resolve myself to behave perfectly. I will engage the man in the white coat, if only superficially. I will make him believe that I have recovered, whatever that means.

**Day 5:**

I open my eyes to an empty room. Disappointment fills me when the man with the white coat is not there. I try my best to stretch my arms and legs, but it has been days since I could really feel them. I tell myself to be patient, but boredom sets in.

Staring up at the ceiling I notice the lamps. The ones that cast the dirty yellow light across the room. I can’t pull them to me, but I can certainly try to make them swing. I focus as hard as I can on the lights, just to the point where my vision starts to blur and my eyes are swimming with tears. I am holding my breath, but I can’t remember for how long I’ve been doing so.

Despair sets in as the light stays resolutely put. I give up and sink slowly back down into the bed that has become my cage.

**Days 6 & 7: **

Days six and seven pass with no event. I spend both of them trying to move random objects around the room, but to no avail. The man in the white coat visits occasionally, poking and prodding into my mind. I shake my head in response to his questions, but my focus is always truly concentrated on his clipboard. I can tell that he is feeling relieved by my unusually subdued behavior.

**Day 8:**

Sandra is back, this time with another woman who has a kind, well meaning face. I learn that her name is Katherine. I am told that they will be getting me out of bed and helping me to stretch my legs. If I can manage a few steps, I will walk towards the bathroom where they will bathe me. If I can’t walk, they will carry me. I am warned that if I try to attack either of them, then any time in the future that I need to be moved from my bed will involve a bite guard and full restraints. This is my last chance to behave.

Katherine lifts one of my legs, bending it slightly. Blinding pain shoots through every piece of me. She must have seen me wince because she says “I’m sorry, honey. You haven’t moved in so long that you’re joints have stiffened terribly. Don’t worry though, we’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Her words seem so kind and sincere. I almost wish that I could believe them.

Getting to the bath is a struggle. Each step I take is shaky and I lose my balance more than once. Lifting my leg over the side of the tub is impossible and eventually I give up, allowing Sandra and Katherine to lift me in instead. 

The sensation of the warm water against my skin is possibly the most pleasant moment of my life. I can’t remember the last time I bathed, so I assume it’s been over a week. Sliding down into the depths of the tub, I submerge my head under water. Out of nowhere I feel a sharp, aching pain just above my right eyebrow. I assume I must’ve cut it when I was fighting with Bernie. I slide back up into a sitting position and Katherine begins to scrub me down.

After my bath, I am given a fresh robe and clean slippers. Katherine has me sit in a chair and combs the knots out of my hair. For the first time in ages, I feel like a real human being. I catch myself thinking that things aren’t so bad, that this Katherine lady seems nice, but then I remind myself of all the days of not knowing what has happened to me, the bed where I have been tied down, and the man in the white coat. I will not be lulled into submission by a small show of kindness.

“Alright, Caroline. Your hair is all done. You look much more like yourself now.”

I have no mirror to look into so I just have to take her word for it. Once we get back to my room, she asks if I’d like to play chess then giggles at the blank expression on my face. Chess? The word sounds vaguely familiar, but I am baffled by what it could mean. Eventually, she shows me.

We play for an hour and for the first time that I can remember, I’m actually enjoying myself. I am allowed to walk around the room and my legs are slowly starting to shake less. Occasionally, I have to rest against a wall, but at least I can move.

Night time comes and the man with the white coat returns. “Caroline, I hear that you did quite well today. I’m proud of you. I think that tonight I will let you sleep in a normal bed without restraints, but you have to promise that you won’t try to leave this room. If you do, the restraints will go back on. Is that clear?”

I shake my head.

That night I do not sleep, but wander my room searching my mind for memories of my past. The only memory I can find is the one of the book flying from the shelf to my arms. I think there must be a reason. My mind must be trying to tell me something, but I’m not sure quite what.

**Day 9:**

The man in the white coat shows up earlier than usual this morning. He stands at the door and for the first time looks almost happy to see me. I think he’s glad that I didn’t throw a fit or try to break out of this place.

“Caroline, today is a special day. Your parent’s are coming to visit you. I know that you’re suffering from memory loss right now, but I’m hoping that talking with them a bit will help to bring some of them back.”

Before their arrival, Katherine comes by my room, bringing me a fresh robe. When she leaves my hair is in two long braids that she has tied with pink ribbon. It’s a nice feeling. I pace my room waiting for these so-called parents of mine. I try to imagine their faces, but can’t. For all I know, my parents could be dead and these people could be imposters.

I hear some noise outside of my door and pause to listen.

“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Caroline has made remarkable progress in the last few days. The initial fear induced violent behavior has subsided and she’s working with us actively to get better. That being said, you have to know she still has a ways to go. Her vocal chords have not started working yet, so she is unable to speak, but she can understand what is being said to her. Right now she is communicating with nods of her head.”

A gasp can be heard from a woman.

“I also want to remind you that while you should talk to her about memories from the past, you should avoid all conversation about her abnormalities. We don’t want to trigger anything that will cause her to regain the memories of her witchcraft.”

My witchcraft? What does that mean? Is that why I am here, because I committed some type of witchcraft? Without warning, the image of the book flying across the room and into my arms pops into my head. I start putting two and two together. I must have had magical abilities before this…this…this procedure. What else would explain this one memory of moving objects without trying?

The man in the white jacket enters the room followed by an overweight, middle aged looking man and a plain, weather worn looking woman. The contrast between them is astounding. The doctor is confident, comfortable even, but the two others reek of fear and intimidation. The woman twiddles her hands nervously, takes one look at me, and bursts out into tears.

The man in the white coat ignores this and starts talking. “Caroline, do you remember your parents? Michael and Laura Johnson?”

I stare at them, willing myself to remember, but I draw a blank.

Fresh tears trickle down the woman’s face as she tries to speak to me. “C-c-c-Caroline, dear, we-we-we’ve missed you so.”

Nothing.

The plump man speaks. “Your sister Sarah is really looking forward to seeing you. She’s been asking about you an awful lot.”

Again, nothing. I can see the will fading in their eyes.

The man looks around, trying desperately to find something he can seize on, but finds nothing. He slides his hands in to his pockets and stares down at his feet.

Even if I could communicate, I have nothing to say to these strangers.

After a few more awkward questions from the man in the white coat, the woman says it’s getting late and they really must be going now. For the first time since their arrival, she steps towards me. She holds out her arms as if I’m supposed to walk into them.

I don’t move. Eventually, she starts to feel foolish with her arms hanging in front of her in the air and gives up. The two people who have been identified as my parents shuffle dejectedly from my door. I can tell that I wasn’t what they were expecting. Disappointment radiates from their slumped shoulders.

**Day 11:**

The last few days have been a blur. Katherine and Sandra have both been in and out of my room constantly, forcing me to walk until I’m exhausted. Something about regaining my leg strength. I still can’t talk, but I’ve been able to make a few croaking sounds, which the man in the white coat tells me is an improvement. Everyone seems so happy with all of the progress I’ve made.

Little do they know, my memory has slowly started to return. It started about an hour after my parents left. I was sitting alone in my room when the face of a young girl popped into my mind. I could hear her talking to me, asking me to show her how I made the flower in the palm of my hand spin. She giggles as I do it again and again. This must be the younger sister, Sarah, that my parents mentioned.

Next, I remembered a cat with black and white spots sleeping in the windowsill of what I imagine is my room at home. I can see the little window that overlooks a garden and a bed covered with a floral quilt. Fresh flowers sit in a vase on the nightstand next to my bed. It’s not much, but I’m excited because it’s all starting to come back finally.

**Day 14:**

The man with the white coat tells me I will be going home today. A week ago, that would’ve elicited no response, but fear. Today I have a better idea of what that means. I can now remember the woods surrounding my family home and that my mother keeps a garden full of vegetables during the summer. I can remember the wood pile my dad builds up throughout the year and the iron stove that heats the house during the winter.

Even though it seems like a happy place, I am filled with apprehension at the thought of returning. For some reason unbeknownst to me, there is a gnawing at the pit of my stomach that won’t go away. Deep in my gut, I know that something is wrong.

Katherine helps me get dressed for the last time, braiding my hair into two long tresses once more. This time she has blue ribbon to tie them off. She stands back to admire her work, smiling at the normalcy. Before I know what’s happening, she has pulled me in to a tight embrace. I hear things like “You’ve done so well.” and “I’m so proud of you.”, but I still feel disconnected. I can tell she’s being sincere, but I still don’t know what happened or what I’ve done to make anyone proud.

What I estimate to be two hours later and I’m on my way home. I’m packed into the backseat of my father’s canary yellow car. My mother is in the front seat rambling away. I can tell she is nervous about my presence and this is her way of defusing the tension. My father says nothing, just focuses on the road ahead. I stare out the window and watch the buildings pass, becoming scarcer and scarcer as we drive.

Just as we pull into the drive way, my sister Sarah comes charging out of the front door. I’ve barely gotten out of the car before she’s wrapped me in a hug.

“Sissy, I’ve missed you so. I’m so glad that you’re…” Her words trail off as she gets a look at my face for the first time. She reaches up and touches the skin just above my right eye very gently. A jolt of pain shoots through me.

Turning to face our parents, she shrieks “What did they do to her?”

My insides twist over on themselves. I can’t imagine what could be causing this reaction. I touch my face where her hand had just been. Then I touch the other side. I can tell the right side is a bit swollen, but with no mirrors in sight for the last two weeks, I hadn’t really given much thought to what my face looked like.

I run inside of the house and charge up the stairs to my room. I slam the door open and find the mirror that hangs on the wall beside my bed. I don’t recognize the person I see looking back at me. I can see that my right eye is puffy and circled with a yellowish purple color, like a bruise that’s finally starting to heal. I press down on it trying to remember what happened, but it won’t come back to me.

That night, I eat dinner with my family. A heavy silence hangs over all of us. At first, my mother tries to make small talk, but gives up one she realizes no one else cares. All that can be heard is the clink of silverware against the plates. The food which my mother informs me is my favorite seems bland and dry in my mouth. I could be eating sand for all the attention I’ve paid it.

After dinner, I am told to go to bed. On my way upstairs, my sister stops me and tells me to pretend to go to sleep, but stay awake until she can sneak into my room. I nod in understanding.

Late that night, when the house is quiet, Sarah slips into my room. I am awake and waiting for her.

“Caroline, do you know what happened to you?”

I shake my head no.

“Do you remember anything?”

Another no.

“I just can’t believe they did this to you. I thought they had made it all up to scare me, but they really went through with it.”

I sit frozen waiting for her to tell me what exactly it was that they did.

“Caroline, you’ve been in the mental hospital. You were showing signs of what dad called sorcery and witchcraft. He said that type of nonsense came from the devil. They tried everything to make it stop. There was an exorcism, boarding school, and good old fashioned whoopin’, but nothing seemed to help you control it. In fact, it just seemed to get worse.”

I feel like I have stopped breathing. Quick blurbs of things are flashing in my mind as she talks.

“Finally, dad reached his breaking point. You know how he gets. He told you that he was going to chuck you into the looney bin and forget that he ever had you for a daughter. You went ballistic. I don’t blame you, but several of the windows shattered, the floor started to shake, things shot off of shelves. It was pretty scary. I guess after that dad went and found this doctor who was supposed to be a pioneer in new medical techniques. He told dad that you could be fixed, that he could fix you.”

It all begins to click. The man with the white coat was the doctor. That’s why he had been studying me so intently. That’s why there were straps on my bed. That’s why there were always multiple people present whenever I was let loose. It explains it all.

“About two weeks ago, the doctor and a team of orderlies came to the house late at night. While you were sleeping, they crept into your room and injected you with something called an opiate, which would make you unconscious. They carried you out and took you away. I tried to stop them, but dad turned on me. He kept yelling that he wouldn’t have a freak for a daughter. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t save you, Caroline.”

Tears are trickling down my face. I look at my sister and realize that she is the only person who truly loves me. I pull her into my arms and we cry silently together. I wish I had words to comfort her with, but my vocal chords still won’t produce any sounds.

“It gets worse, Caroline.”

I pause, a sinking feeling rolling over my stomach. Sarah holds out her hand to me and in it is a flower, spinning effortlessly in circles.

“It all started the day after you left. I can’t control it very well yet and I’m afraid dad might notice. I don’t want to get chucked in the mental hospital. You have to teach me to stop it.”

A rage has begun to boil up in me that I’ve never felt before. Everything has come rushing back. The fight with my parents. The waking up in a strange place. The ice pick beside the operating table. The bone-shattering feeling as it was hammered into my skull. The stirring deep in the center of my head. Hours later, the agonizing pain and the screaming. Oh god! The screaming until my vocal chords bled.

I vomit what I had choked down at dinner all over my bedroom floor. Wave after wave of nausea hitting me until my stomach is completely empty.

It is in that moment, I resolve to protect my baby sister. What has happened to me will never happen to her. And anyone that tries it will have to get through me first.

I reach a shaky hand out to Sarah and take the flower from her. I lay it flat in my palm and feel a tingling in the very tips of my fingers. The flower floats up into the air and spins just as it had done for her. I feel a sense of pride that even though my parents tried, they were unable to rob me of my magic. It isn’t in my brain, but deep within my heart, intertwined with my most powerful emotions. It is something they will never take from me no matter how hard they try and something they will never try to take from my sister if they value their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> This story was originally posted on HPFF for the Banner Challenge. The idea of the challenge was to write a story inspired by the banner we were each assigned. This is what I came up with.
> 
> I’d love to know what you thought of it, so if you have a moment to spare, leave a comment.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~Kaitlin/TreacleTart


End file.
